


Itsy-Bitsy

by nogoodbi



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: Alternate Origin Story, Alternate Universe, Crossover, Gen, POV Alternating, Peter Parker becomes a Stand User
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-26 10:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20388220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nogoodbi/pseuds/nogoodbi
Summary: Alternatively; A Bizzare Adventure in the City That Never Sleeps.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively, The Origin.

Every night since, It’s the same song. The same damn song.

It’s him. He whispers, raspy, sharp, and droning. He whispers straight into my ear, only the right, but I hear Him in my head; echoing tenfold. I curled in my bed, sweating and feeling heat despite the air conditioned room. The cut on my finger ached.

_The itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout…. _

_ Down came the rain and washed the spider out… _

A hallucination, a fever dream. That’s what He is. Not real, I’m sick. Infected, the cut on my finger, from that old arrow in the museum. God knows what sort of bacteria was in that point, stupid of me to have touched it. It was absurdly sharp; I’d barely grazed the thing. 

Gwen and Harry would call it a ‘curse’. Ancient artifact from Egypt, of course it would bring spirits and bad luck to those who it deems unworthy— whatever. As much as I enjoy those fantasy movies and stories, I’m a man of science.

A 15 year old, stick thin man of science. Currently pale as a ghost and leaving a damp full body stain on my mattress.

I’m sick.

—

My aunt and uncle are hard workers. Classmates once saw them and assumed they were my grandparents, but Ben was my father’s brother. His hair started greying at an earlier than usual age. May looked younger, but she used dye; grey roots had been starting to show on the top of her head. They both worked. May at the clinic, Ben at the workshop.

No serious money problems, but only because they both work full-time jobs. Ever since they took me in…

Hood up, earbuds in, I grabbed an egg carton and put it in the basket. My head was still burning with a fever, but I was still in charge of the groceries. Money left at the counter with a post-it note with a list, they were gone before I’d woken up. 

I didn’t tell them about the fever or the prick. The voice. If it gets better within the weekend, It’s not worth the time, worry, and money.

I nearly dropped all my things making my way towards the counter.

Rubbed at my eyes, lifting my glasses as the cashier worker scanned the items and put them in the bag. I gave them a 100 dollar bill without hearing what the total was, collected the change, then left.

_ The bag. _

I backstepped and took the bag of groceries before I could forget.

Huh.

_ You’re welcome. _

I am going crazy.

The four-legged red thing on my shoulder grinned with a mouth that took up most of the space of its’ body. Him.

**Itsy Bitsy Spider.**

No eyes— only dots in blue with lines making up a pattern. I felt like it was staring at me. Constantly.

It’s not real. Not real.

_ I feel pretty real, _He said with the voice that sang me lullabies that kept me from sleeping.

God no. I needed to keep my grades up, and an extended stay at a mental hospital would surely be a hit to that. I’m not gonna risk it.

_ Least of your worries. Stop now. _His tone was completely different.

I wanted to refuse humoring the not-real creature that wasn’t on my shoulder, but I instinctively stopped walking.

_ Robbery, right at the store you just left. He’s armed, but if you catch him on guard by keeping close to the corner, you can stop him long enough for security to get him. I’ll give you a signal. _

What the hell was he talking about?

_ Trust me. _

“No.”

Eyes moved towards me, passersby. Of course, nobody took attention to the thing that wasn’t real. I am crazy. I fiddled with the button on my earbuds, hoping they’d think I was talking on the phone.

I walked away at a faster pace despite my growing headache. Sure enough, a shady looking man hiding something under his coat ran out the automatic door, walking in my direction. He pushed me aside as he moved past me and the crowd. Staff and customers inside were screaming.

_ Told you. _

Honestly speaking, I was shocked. The thing that wasn’t real..

_ I tried to warn you. _

Warn me from what? That I could have tried to tackle an armed man twice my size and five times my weight? That a crook would get away with taking money from some store? As selfish as it may sound, I didn’t feel like it was my business. 

— 

_ I tried to warn you. _

“Shut the fuck up.”

How would there even be correlation? Karmic retribution was not something I’d believed in. I believed in it as much as I believed in the existence of the creature only I could see that whispered things to me. I knew He wasn’t real, because this was all a dream.

A horrible, terrible fever dream. 

One where Uncle Ben was dead; shot in the streets.

Aunt May’s weeping wasn’t real. The police showing up at our doorstep wasn’t real. The thing on my shoulder telling me I was somehow responsible... Not real.

_ Walk away now. Go and sleep and mourn tomorrow. That’s your safest path now. _

I ignored Him.

The shooter was still on the run. He got away but there was an eyewitness. And he had been led to a sketch artist. Me and May had been brought to the station. Ben’s car had been taken. We collected the stuff that was on him. Phone, Wallet, the keys which he’d put in his shirt pocket, now bloodstained…

We were shown the sketch of the shooter before they would broadcast it into the news. 

The thing on my shoulder was silent.

I broke into a sob, the headache completely gone as every feeling in my body became numb but for the sharp pain in my chest that told me, my imaginary creature had been right.

I couldn’t forget the face of that man I let go away.

—

“What are you, really?”

I whispered the question as quietly as I could despite the fact that everyone else was standing far away, still at the gravestone. Some were praying, others talked, probably about how great a man he was, something I’d known without anyone having to remind me.

_ You. Or, a part of you. Your essence. Soul. _

So souls were real. I hoped Ben’s was in the place where the good ones went.

“That explains nothing.”

_ I’m not here to explain. I only know as much as you, but I can protect you. _

“Protect?”

_ Protect. I know as much as you, but when harm or misfortune may come to you, I will know, and you will. I will be your guide to— _

“Magic danger warning system, got it.”

_ You interrupted my exposition— _

“You’re technically an extension of me, I can interrupt you all I want.”

I looked down on the thing. On my black suit jacket, he stood out more clearly. Less of a real being and more of an image. The reds and blues stood out a hue too vibrant, and it cast no shadow.

_ He _ cast no shadow? _ I _ cast no shadow?

Still gonna need a while to get used to. I’m not sure what to exactly call this… oddity.

“Itsy-Bitsy Spider?” I said.

He made a noise.

“I made a mistake, not listening to you. I won’t make that mistake again.”

_ I know what you’re thinking. _

“Then I don’t have to say it.”

The killer was still at large. A petty robber, a mugger, car thief, murderer.

Spider warns me only of things that will affect me, so I have to involve myself for this to work.

Vigilante justice was something out of comic books, unrealistic. As unrealistic as precognitive magic spider made out of my soul or whatever.

It’s a superpower. I have a bad guy to get. I have motivation.

Straight out of a comic book.

_ There’s so many things wrong with this idea. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel meets JoJo. If at the moment this just feels like stock Spidey with a few extra quirks, I'll make sure to work on making it more Bizzare. Enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively, Dennis C's No Good, Very Bad Day.

Dennis Carradine ran from a child. He was unsure if it was a child or a very thin, very small adult. He’d started to doubt that his pursuer was even human.

He thought that because of how the boy moved. Eyes only on him, no attention to his surroundings or obstacles that came his way. Every corner turned and alley snuck through, it was as if the boy knew every move he was going to take.

He had his gun, but he wasn’t willing to shoot if that really  _ was _ just a kid. Even he had a line he refused to cross.

Onto the main road, running down the sidewalk. Much less people at this time of night, less risk of witnesses. He ran across the road which still had some vehicles but not enough to cause that much traffic.

The boy, he followed; overlooked the schoolyard rule of looking both ways before crossing the road. He still had his eyes on Carradine as he rolled past a moving vehicle with inhumanly precise timing.

In the alleyway of the street across, Carradine pulled out his gun.

_ No ordinary kid. _

Bullets fired, bullets dodged. He closed the distance and swung his fist in a punch that connected to Carradine’s throat. Not much force compared to an adult, but he must’ve had studs in his gloves.

Carradine coughed and choked and dropped his gun. The boy picked it up.

The boy in the ski mask, gloves and a black sweatshirt and jeans. His eyes were visible, dark and angry.

In a soft voice, he said, “Tell me how I should make him  _ hurt.” _

An earpiece? Was he not working alone?   


Fists clenched, he looked angrier and he sauntered towards Carradine. One knee to the groin, hard. A repeat, two repeats. The boy grabbed Carradine’s neck with both hands, clutching harder and harder. His eyes glared right at Carradine’s, seeming more like those of an animal’s.

Sirens. Cops. Red and blue lights, further making the boy harder to see with the air being cut off from Carradine’s head. The boy looked frustrated, head shaking and composure faltering; hands on the older man’s throat loosening. He shook them off, but that was long enough that the police caught up to them. The boy managed to run off before guns were drawn, and one of the officers followed suit. The second officer put cuffs on Carradine’s hands.

—

Carradine was a man with connections. Petty crooks like him could get by in this city by working odd jobs, deliveries and such, for men who were as petty of crooks as him, just with bigger guns. They had an advantage, having certain ‘tools’ others don’t.

Carradine had seen some of their work. Not pretty.

He’d seen a lot more than the splatters on the walls and the bodies.

They were very secretive.

A soft hiss was the only sound he heard in his cell. The floor, the vents, the gaps on the wall, they were hissing. Miniscule particles of mineral moving in patterns, gathering into a clump in front of Carradine. It grew into the shape of a man that didn’t look quite right.

Carradine pressed himself against the wall farthest from the man made of sand. The sand-man didn’t speak. Carradine guessed he couldn’t; he wouldn’t have the capacity to, with lungs and a throat made of sand. He did have a face, a mouth; lips curled into a smile as he raised a hand and shoved it into Carradine’s mouth. 

Sand flooding his throat, suffocating, scraping at the walls of his throat.

—

“Marko, you incompotent fool.”

The man in the green striped shirt under coat shrugged. “Well… Boss wasn’t all that specific so…”

“I  _ assumed _ ,” Dmitiri said with emphasis, the word sounding rough with his slimy voice and thick accent. “That we were supposed to make it look _inconspicuous_.”

Marko looked at him with a blank expression, hands in his coat pocket.

“Make it look like he killed himself! Not— choke on pounds of sand that came from nowhere! What do you think forensics will think when they autopsy the body??”

“Uh, whoops.”

“ _ Whoops _ .” 

Dmitri sighed, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. I can handle it.”

“Thanks, man.”

Dmitri grumbled, then looked up at Marko one more time.

“One more thing. Got intel from his arrest detail. Carradine said he was being chased, a masked kid who could dodge bullets.”

“Carradine’s a bad shot, then?”

“He isn’t.”

“You’re saying there might be— “

“A new Stand user in New York, exactly. I ran it over with the boss, he said it was worth looking into. I’m sure an idiot like you could handle it.”

Marko nodded, smiling. “Won’t let you down, C.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vigilantism and villains!  
A big inspiration for this particular fic is Vento Aureo, so expect me to (atleast, attempt to) pull a similar vibe as La Squadra with a lot of the rogues gallery.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively, the "People Find Things Out" chapter

“You seem to be feeling better,” Gwen said.

Two days after my night out on the town. I did feel better. School especially, seemed to lift my mood more than usual. Maybe it was that I could see my friends again, maybe it was because home felt a lot emptier… 

I nodded to Gwen’s remark. “Yeah…”

I wanted to tell them what I’d done. I knew Harry especially would be delighted to learn about my newfound ‘ability’.

_ Bad idea, many risks. _

I rolled my eyes, then remembered Gwen’s presence as she gave me an odd look.

“Hey, have you seen Harry?”

“Oh, he’s away on a  _ family thing. _ ” she answered with a particular venom in her tone at ‘family thing’.

Harry’s dad was notorious in our trio as having established himself as an arrogant, controlling slimeball..

“Poor Harry.”

“I know..”

The two of us were heading towards the lockers until a Eugene “Flash” Thompson crossed our path. Big, blonde hair like Gwen’s and almost as long, I would have found him handsome if it weren’t for the douchey smile he often had fixed on his face. It at least fit his personality; being my schoolyard bully for many past years. 

Today, he didn’t have his trademark asshole-smile. He looked sincere. 

I flinched away from him as he stepped forward. Nerves, no magic spider telling me this was a danger. I’ve had a bad history with me, and that brought discomfort when he put a hand on my shoulder.

“Heard about what happened, sorry man.”

Condolences. Not what I expected. In fact, It was so far from my expectations, I had frozen.

“Um, Hello?”

“Oh— uh, yeah. Thanks… Flash.”

He pulled his hand back. He gestured a wave towards Gwen and me as he walked the opposite direction of the two of us. He turned away before I did. It was nice to know he wasn’t a completely irredeemable jerk, but it was also really weird to have Flash treat me with basic human decency, for once.

“What was that..?”

I couldn’t come up with a response. 

“Your face is red, by the way,”

“No it’s not.”

_ She’s right, it’s obvious. Cool off to reduce the redness, avoid potential embarrassment. _

Thanks, Spider.

—

May had been taking extra work shifts. It was necessary and I hated it. I knew next to nothing about finding a job for people my age, thus I elected Gwen to help me find a potential income source. That was the intent, but hanging out at her place, we’d ended up watching obscure horror films on her excessively large widescreen TV.

She had a fancy place; the couch on her living room seeming to have a powerful draw to it that prevented all productive activities from happening. I wasn’t sure how the Stacys could get anything done in this household.

“Urg.”

“Problem, Pete?”

“This sucks..”

“I mean, yeah. But I actually like the cheesy charm of the monster costumes and the dumb acting.”

“No— I mean, May.” I actually agreed on that bit about the acting.

“She doesn’t even have the time to mourn. Straight to work, all because my parents just  _ had  _ to leave me on her and Ben’s doorstep and bail.”

“Pete..”

“It sucks. Did you know she wanted to be a Broadway actress? She was auditioning and looking for gigs and everything— then I showed up. Ben— he wanted to travel…”

I didn’t realize I was tearing up until Gwen handed me the tissues.

“Man, it’s not your fault…”

I haven’t even told her about the fact that it  _ was _ . I had planned to wait until Harry was around, but…

“That’s the thing, Gwen,” I said, my voice sounding weird between the sobs. “It is.”

“Peter, no..”

“It is. Look— hold out your hand.” She was unsurprisingly confused, but did so anyway.

I spoke, but not to address Gwen. “Itsy-Bitsy Spider?”

With one limb, Spider gave me a pseudo-salute, then hopped off my shoulder onto Gwen’s open hands. She couldn’t see Him, but as I suspected, He was felt. She yelped and pulled her hand back, but Spider stayed stuck on her left hand, her waving it around and rubbing with no effect.

“Peter— what the heck is this??”

“It’s— um,” How would you even  _ explain _ this to someone? “You can’t see it, but there’s a creature on your hand. That thing… is an extension of me.”

That confused her even more. She was very much frazzled.

“His name is Itsy Bitsy Spider. Only I can see or hear him. He’s not dangerous, don’t worry.”

_ I’d like to remind you that I helped you take down an armed criminal with minimal risk and effort.. _

“He’s friendly.”

Gwen started to calm down, and I called Spider back to me. Her eyes were wide.

“That’s…. Okay? I still don’t see how this means that it was your fault.”

“Well— “

Before I could elaborate, Gwen’s father came downstairs and flicked on the lights. Captain Stacy was younger than he looked, in contrast to my late uncle. He was lean, hair styled in a very modern way, good looking for his age. The stress and lack of sleep in his eyes were quite visible, though.

“Where are my keys…” he muttered to himself before noticing the two of us.

“Work called?”

“Yeah— on really short notice too, ” He kept searching, patting his coat pocket and scanning the counter as he talked.

“Guy we brought in dropped dead in his cell, sorry to be morbid. Oh, hey Pete.”

That sent shivers down my spine, It  _ couldn’t  _ be….

“He— Did he kill himself?”

“They’re looking into it now, but I feel it’s unlikely with the details, He was a healthy guy, too— I… really shouldn’t be talking about this to you kids. Oh! Found the keys, see ya.”

Gwen could read my expression and from the look on her face, I could tell it wasn’t a good one.

—

Hands wiped off the blank white face that concealed Dmitri Smerdyakov's true appearance. Hands that were his, but not  _ his. _ They were attached to a pair of arms that were attached to a torso that was gaunt, scales with vibrant patterns that shifted on a surface colored white. The figure had large eyes that darted around, no mouth or nose.

**Karma Chameleon. ** Only few could see it, even fewer knew what it did.

Not a combative Stand, far from it. Dmitri wasn’t a very combative man, so he had no qualms. He left that to Alexei, or god forbid, Marko. He was more prone to more… unconventional methods.

Chameleon could smear the white covering onto a pistol, most would notice a phone or a book in-hand. Inconspicuous. Dmitri had smeared his own face, forming a ‘mask’. He entered a room, most would assume he was supposed to be there. Very useful when, for instance, you had to convince the police precinct that the autopsy report concluded that a man had died from illness rather than suffocation and internal bleeding. 

He cursed Marko’s name in his head.

With the white gunk off his face, he washed up, applying a meticulous facial routine before brushing his teeth and going to bed.

A call. Marko.

He cursed in his mother tongue, then composed himself. “Yes?”

“Found a lead on our possible Stand user,”

“Then why call me? Follow it.”

“I am, but I think this is more your area of expertise than mine.”

Dmitri sighed.

“Newest exhibit in the museum, an old arrow from Egypt. Sound familiar?”

Ah. The boss had an arrowhead on a pedestal, locked in his office. Any member promoted to a high enough rank is called up to him personally, told to prick themselves with it. Half of those members were never seen again, as far as Dmitri knew. 

Dmitri, Marko, and Alexei were part of the other half.

“Interesting. I’ll check it out. What are you up to?”

“There was a school trip recently, Midtown.” Marko said. “Carradine mentioned his guy looked like a kid, right?”

“You’re gonna go investigate a high school. You, big man in a trench coat and creepy-uncle haircut?”

“I’ll use my stand of course— and I happen to like my haircut!”

“Of course you do. Don’t catch too much attention, Marko.”

“Good luck to you too, buddy.”

Dmitri hung up first. 

—

“Karma Chameleon,”

He called his Stand. Hands momentarily obscured his face, which felt cold and wet with the Stand’s power. Pulled back, he looked in the mirror. Featureless, no visible nose or lips. 

The American Museum of Natural History. At this hour, it would be just the night guard and security cameras. Chameleon’s ability worked through footage as well.

Dmitri entered the door and passed through, the night guard noticing him as the stocky man read a magazine and lounged on the information booth. 

“Heya.” the guard waved, only looking up from his reading for a moment.

The exhibit was to the left, among other relic tools and weapons. As if it were under a spotlight, the pillar the arrow were to be mounted on was illuminated by moonlight leaking from above. Brighter than most of the other spots, as the glass making up the skyline was somewhat tinted dark, and there had been a perfect circle carved out of it right above the exhibit.

The arrow had been stolen, no alarms tripped. 

“ Блыат.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of setup this time 'round, but I did get to introduce a new stand, so that's neat I guess.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively, Advancements.

“Itsy-Bitsy Spider,”

He appeared on my peripheral vision as I opened Captain Stacy’s laptop. On my other side, Gwen, giving me the same look I’d imagine Spider would give me if He had a human face.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

_ I’d like to remind you that I cannot tell you just anything. That’s not how it works.  _

“I do.” I said with a smile, cracking my finger bones before typing into the laptop, filling in the password column with gibberish.

I was pretty sure I knew what I was doing.

Incorrect password.

A second try, more gibberish.

“Pete— “

“I’m pretty sure, with this model,”

Incorrect password. A third try. 

“Enough failed login attempts,”

_ Peter.  _

Incorrect password.

“It sends the owner an alert, then it wipes the data.”

The warning came up. There was a time limit to fill in the proper password, too. I hadn’t expected that.

“That would be…. bad. A misfortune, you might say,”

Gwen was pale when Spider caved and whispered into my ear. 

_ Urgh. Type in Maxine98.  _

It unlocked, and laughter escaped Gwen’s lips, a nervous, relieved chuckle. I held out my hand for a high-five, and she gave it. Captain Stacy’s personal laptop had access to police data, records and files and such. There were passwords, but I managed to get through them with the same trick I pulled before.

I found pictures. The case file of Dennis Carradine’s death.

“That doesn’t look like suicide…”

I agreed. Blood from the mouth, doubled over like he’d just… collapsed. Around his body…. 

“There’s sand."

With the blood, I could have still believed he’d taken some sort of pill he had hidden with him, but the sand just stumped me. 

“Spider, am I — are there more people with abilities?”

A chill down my spine as Itsy-Bitsy Spider’s ability spun its’ gears. I wasn’t sure on the limit of my power, but I was sure that the knowledge on whether there are more people with powers— criminals even— would be a major factor in my fate.

Itsy-Bitsy Spider sighed.  _ I guess so. _

—

Ben Parker’s homicide hadn’t been the first major crime Dennis Carradine had been involved in. He had previous charges in smuggling drugs, manslaughter, involvement in a shootout with several police casualties…

He’d been involved in a gang. Details fuzzy, but he must’ve been involved enough that they went after him in a prison cell just so there would be no chance he’d leak information.

And a gang as ruthless and cold as that had men with abilities; could kill a man in a locked cell with no entrances. Would the police have a chance?

Either way, I had to play a part.

Gwen put the laptop back where we’d found it; made sure there was no trace that we’d tampered with it. Afterwards, we ordered pizza; to eat while we discussed our next course of action.

—

Show a modern day airplane to a man in the 1800s, he’ll see it as witchcraft. Magic. Show an average modern day man something fantastical, they’d say it was magic. Mr. Osborne was not an average man, he knew better. He’d heard of fantastical powers and gods and monsters, but they no grand oddities in God's great plan, merely the next step.

In order for the average man to remain of the times, it is the responsibility of men like Mr. Osborne to guide them into the new status quo through the pursuit of knowledge, research, and truth.

For the greater good.

The woman wore a suit as she entered Mr. Osborne’s office. A business suit, black, white, suitcase in hand. Not her usual attire. A woman of her career usually donned a different kind of suit. Glasses hid her face, though her shock of white hair gave away who she was.

“Miss Hardy,”

Lips curled into a smile, she set the suitcase on the desk, pulling out a key to remove the handcuff that had bound it to her.

“When doing business,” she said, a sultry tone. “Call me Cat.”

Unimportant. Semantics like this was below Mr. Osborne. He opened the case. Wooden shaft with the tip a fine black steel, golden ornate decorations that looked like it would make it an impractical weapon. The arrow.

He held it gingerly, taking care to avoid touching the head.

“Satisfied?”

“You will be paid handsomely Miss… Cat.”

The cat-burglar left without a word. She’d be expecting a transfer of money with great value into her account, and not the authorities raiding her in her home to find a fake arrow that had been planted; a tip from an anonymous source bringing them there. Mr. Osborne didn’t like loose ends.

Mr. Osborne took the elevator to Special Research, arrow in hand. 

Dr. Octavius was a short and stocky man, with balding hair and round glasses. He was the head researcher. He was delighted to see the relic in Mr. Osborne’s hand.

“You— How in the world did you get that?”

“Not important. You said you needed this, I provide.”

Mechanical hands claimed the arrow. Attached to the doctor’s back, it was a quaint little invention.

“This will make things so much faster, thank you sir,”

Faster. Faster is good. 

Mr. Osborne felt like a lesser man to admit that he did have personal stakes in this.

“Just fix _ my son _ , Octavius.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I.. might have screwed up in giving Peter a potentially broken way of using his Stand power, but hey, that's appropriately JoJo I think.


End file.
